Advantage
by pattie mayonnaise
Summary: [For XxWhiteThunder15xX's Demon Bros. Challenge, uses dub names] Controlling the world isn't an easy thing to do...and neither is realizing the truth. Oneshot, Princeton brothers centric.


**Disclaimer**: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh GX.

**Wow, I've finally finished this. I started this a long, LONG time ago, and then stopped working on it for awhile, and then just recently got started on it again. I put a lot of work into this, down to reading about Japan's government system, so that I could make sure I got everything right, so I'm glad it's finally done. I've always loved Chazz's brothers, though in the dub they are portrayed as pretty one-dimensional characters. But I've always seen them as more than that, and see the relationship between the three brothers as something really complex and complicated. I really hope I do them justice, I don't know if I will. But if you ask me, (which no one is) Yu-Gi-Oh GX has a buttload of minor characters that deserve the spotlight a little more often. I tend to like them more than the main characters, too, but that's just me.**

**Anyways, I'd really appreciate reviews of any kind, whether it's to tell me you liked it, sort of liked it, didn't like it, or absolutely hated it, I just want you to be honest. Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated, I'd like to know what I did wrong, so just tell me straight out. I can handle it. I mean, how else am I supposed to fix it?**

**Well, you didn't come here to read the Author's Note, and I've definitely already written too much so...here it goes.**

* * *

----- 

It was such a good plan.

A great plan, to be more precise.

The epitome of _brilliance_, to be downright faultless in description.

His intelligence astounded him, and it pleased him knowing that nobody of less cleverness could come up with such a plan.

He was young and they were younger, and already taking the world by storm.

Yes, soon they would reach the golden age, he thought, smiling.

Surely they would.

* * *

----- 

The signs were everywhere, stuck in the grass on street corners with the others, hanging on light posts wherever they were allowed, on the sides of buildings and buses and anything they could get their hands on.

The picture of a dashing, handsome man with a smiling (charming) face that clearly held the air of trustworthiness plastered the front of each picketed sign and overtook the city, perhaps a foreshadowing, he relished.

Slade watched with a pleased expression at the signs, now a newly-elected city mayor.

"Take a good look at this," he said to his brothers, indicating the signs around them, "_This_ is what I expect from you. Success. Advancement. _This _is the beginning of a new era, _our _era. I want nothing less than progress from you."

The others looked at the signs, understood his words, but stayed silent. They'd heard it all before.

Slade turned pointedly to Chazz. "Did you hear me?" he said to him, almost taunting. "_You_ should be listening closely, observing all you can, if you were wise. You seem to not understand that failure is not an option. Ever." He nodded at Jagger beside him, and continued. "He's doing his part. In fact, he just bought another company, and though a little on the _slow_ side," he paused and looked at Jagger for emphasis, "he's already doing better than you. And me? Well," he laughed smugly, "just take a look around and you'll have your answer."

Chazz said nothing, his eyes determinedly pointed away.

"Don't you have anything to say for yourself? Why is it you keep failing me, hm?"

"I'm…I'm not failing you."

"Oh? So you've been winning a few duels, then?"

"I've always been winning duels."

"No. You know what I mean."

Chazz hesitated. "No…" he answered quietly, unwillingly. Jagger noticed his fists clench.

Slade sighed with contempt. "I thought as much."

"Did you, now?" he mumbled back in a low voice, but as if he wanted them to hear.

That's when Jagger looked up, no longer bored and quite surprised at this behavior from his younger brother. Slade, however, thought differently.

"What was that you said?" he asked threateningly.

"Nothing," was all the other answered back.

Slade took that as a sign that he had won, that he had quashed this small uprising before it had really begun. The complacent expression on his face said it all.

But Chazz still had his fists clenched and Jagger had the suspicion that Slade shouldn't be so confident.

And as his two other brothers walked on, and he realized he was behind, he followed them, but without first taking one last look at the signs before they were taken down, and strangely finding himself hoping that his suspicion would someday be right.

* * *

----- 

Jagger leaned against the wall, his arms folded as he watched the other pack his things away. The room was quickly becoming empty, and the sight was strange to him. What was even stranger to him, however, were his unmistakable feelings of utter _jealousy_ towards his brother, an occurrence that was as rare as it was inevitable. Chazz was leaving, because he had shown more courage in the heat of adversity than Jagger had ever done in his _life_. Since when did Chazz ever have the nerve to do such a thing? Not that long ago he was the one _begging_ for his brothers' approval. _His _approval.

And soon, his brother would no longer have to live this life.

The envy was killing him.

Chazz looked up, where his eye caught Jagger watching him closely. He knew the dangerous glint in the other's eyes was not just a trick of light.

He sighed, going back to packing. "You should be doing the same thing, you know…"

Jagger immediately snapped out of the trance he was in, caught off guard. _I know I should, _he thought angrily._ Don't act like you know more than me_.

His answer, however, had nothing in common.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said. But still he stood in the corner, watching him.

"Hmph," was all the other said. Of course he didn't buy his brother's sorry excuse for an answer. But he was done packing now, and there was nothing he wanted more than to get out. He taped up the last box before carrying it over to the rest of the stack by the door. He'd hire someone to get them later. Grabbing his suitcase he headed straight to leave without delay; he knew it would be useless to try and say good-bye to the bitter man standing in the corner.

He quickly reached the door, and grasped the handle. Turning it would mean he had finally reached the moment he had been waiting for all his sorry life, the moment that he had once feared his cowardice would prevent from coming. Past this it would all be over, at long last. And yet, he found himself hesitating, and turning back around. Something held him back.

"So you're going to live the rest of your life like this?" he asked quietly. Jagger could feel Chazz's eyes on him, evaluating him. _Judging _him. Never once had that happened before. But not even his pride could make him look up, and face reality.

"You do have a choice," he finally said after a bit of silence, when Jagger didn't reply, and with that, he softly closed the door behind him.

* * *

----- 

He couldn't stop thinking about those words for a long time, though for sure he tried. They, against his will, engraved themselves in his mind, an invasion of pests that refused to weaken against their outnumbered opponent, and they charged in unwanted and echoing and repeating over and over until he swore he could actually see them, interrupting every other thought he had in his futile attempts to forget them.

_You have a choice._

And he hated not being able to forget them.

He hated how it was his—_younger_—brother who exposed them to him. He hated how they made so much sense and yet made things so much more complicated. And he hated the truth in them. But the damage was done, and they were stuck.

Stuck…that's how he felt like right about now, as he stood with his brother in the office elevator. It was silent, like it usually was between them when they weren't talking business—any conversation outside of that would have been even _more_ awkward than the suppressed atmosphere that presently surrounded them—so Jagger made no ridiculous attempts to break the silence.

The doors finally opened, the heat and stuffiness suddenly replaced by the cool air of an office. It was a bustling work scene, with people taking fast, long strides across the room, papers in hand, while others sat at their desks, phones to their ears or intently typing at the computer. Slade quickly walked on, but Jagger found himself strangely hesitating, as he slowed his usually fast pace—something, he realized, he had learned to do to keep up with his domineering brother. He looked at the working people, their faces, surprised to find he did not recognize anybody. It was the first time Jagger looked—_really _looked—at his surroundings. What was usually a faceless crowd was no longer that; he saw every individual...and what he realized is that none of their lives revolved solely around their work. There was a brunette woman over to the side, talking on the phone as she jotted something down, her shoes off and lying carelessly on the ground; another man sat in the desk next to her, quickly eating his lunch as some of it fell onto his shirt; two guys across the room stood by the water cooler, talking animatedly to each other in their break time. They were lucky. They had their own life outside of the office.

His life _was_ the office.

Suddenly he felt a force from his right side and found that he had run into a woman, the papers she was holding flying through the air and scattering all over the floor.

She began to curse at the idiot who had bumped into her, but seeing who it was she immediately stopped, flustered.

"Oh! I-I'm so sorry...Mr. Princeton…" she said quickly as she rushed around trying to gather her fallen possessions.

"No, it's...it's my fault," he answered, hesitating before bending down to help her pick up the papers. As he handed her the last few, she looked at him, shock clearly on her face.

"Thanks..." she said slowly, staring at him for a bit with uncertainty and surprise in her expression, before quickly walking off. Jagger stood there, perplexed. Was what he did really that out of character?

He finally walked into his office, where Slade stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out the huge window which engulfed most of the side of the wall. He turned his head slightly.

"What the hell took you so long to get in here? You were right behind me," he said impatiently.

Jagger set his briefcase down. "Well, I ran into this woman, and—"

"Yeah, whatever," Slade interrupted, waving it off. "I didn't mean actually answer."

Jagger felt a pang of anger at his comment but stayed silent. It was an action he was used to, after all.

Slade finally turned all the way around to face him, his expression stern. "I needed to meet with you today to discuss some important…_information _I've learned," he began tentatively. Jagger had a feeling he knew what he was about to say.

"It's been brought to my attention," continued Slade, "that you intend to withdraw from the merging deal with Paxton?"

"That's right."

Slade raised his eyebrows at his bluntness. "No, it's _not_ right. I told you to keep that deal on, at all costs. I want an American company in our control."

"I know, but there are a million others we could consider. Paxton is much too arrogant, much too difficult. He acts as if we are so lucky to have him—"

"Don't argue with me."

"Well, you're not the one who spends all their time everyday working on this, as I have, so you really don't have the authority to make a reasoned decision on this sort of thing," he replied, feeling his temper rising.

Slade did not agree, to say the least. "What did you just say to me? I'm not the one who spends all their time working? I spend _all_ my time working, and you know why? Because I have to do the work of _three_, because the others are useless without me, because one is incompetent and the other someone who has proven to be nothing but a failure."

He knew who Slade was referring to. "At least Chazz had enough sense to leave," he mumbled back.

Slade snapped his head up, a dangerous sign. He had heard. "Now you listen here, Jagger," he began furiously. "_I'm_ the one who took this family under my responsibility, to make sure we all wouldn't end up in a back alley somewhere, degrading ourselves to common filth and _begging_ for basic needs. You want to know why we have it so good here? Me. Everything we've gained, everything we have, is all because of _me_. Don't think for one second that you mean something without me, ok? I _made _you into who you are today. I'm the only one who has made the effort to ensure that the family name will not ever be disgraced. I don't _care_ what Chazz did, in my book, he no longer deserves the title of Princeton. He's dead, gone. He is no longer part of this. And let me get one thing across to you: I hold _all_ the authority. You _will_ do as I say, do I make myself clear?"

Jagger stayed silent.

"I asked you a question. Do I make myself clear?" he repeated, slower, his eyes narrowed.

"Yes."

"Good. Now, I want you to call Mr. Paxton back and tell him you've made a mistake, you want the deal back on."

Jagger hesitated, his anger so close to exploding he could hardly contain it. He forced himself to, though all he wanted to do right now was punch his brother so hard he would never think he could treat him like this again. He was equally appalled—and baffled—at himself as well, when he felt himself picking up the phone and dialing the number. There was an answer on the other line, and he heard himself requesting to talk to Mr. Paxton, then apologizing to him for his mistake, then negotiating with the man to forgive his poor judgment and to reconsider them for the merge.

Why was he doing this? he wondered, confused by his actions. Why was he letting Slade have all the control again?

"Now I better see a few things changed by tonight. I won't stand for this from you. Do not ever disrespect me again."

He strode out of the room then, his head held high arrogantly, slamming the door behind him. Jagger stood in place, his fists clenched on either side of him, his fingernails digging into his palms. He was disgusted with himself. He had been so useless, so easily conquered.

He hated that man. With everything he had in him.

He absolutely _hated_ him.

There was a large crash as he suddenly lunged at the table in front of him, striking everything on it in a fury, leaving nothing salvaged. The table, rocking back and forth dangerously from the impact, refused to fall. With annoyance he picked it up and violently tossed it across the room, where it hit the ground forcefully and slid into the far wall, one of its legs left behind.

The glass vase that had sat on it was now a million pieces on the floor, its flowers lying in disarray on the ground, the other objects used for decoration no longer recognizable as they sat crookedly on the floor. He breathed heavily a few times as he gazed at the damage he had done.

The _damage _he had done.

And smiled.

* * *

----- 

It was quite funny, actually, thought Jagger as he sat in his swivel chair, spinning around and around, something he hadn't done since childhood and he couldn't imagine why, it was quite enjoyable, this spinning.

But there was something he was taking even more pleasure in. It was a thought he had had earlier, a realization. He stuck his foot out and promptly stopped.

Slade was scared.

_He's scared, and he's scared because he knows he needs me…but I don't need him._

He laughed again. It really was quite funny.

Because Slade was right.

Before he knew it he was getting up, and walking out the door, his feet taking him somewhere beyond his control. And for once, he didn't let himself have the control. He was finally acting in the moment, and it was long past due.

Outside he continued to let his feet guide him, as he walked this way and that, turning street corners and crossing crosswalks and dodging cars at said crosswalks and turning street corners again. People must have thought him a common man taking a stroll in the city, not knowing that he waited his whole life to be just that. After one more turn and a few buildings past, he stopped, and that's when he looked up and found himself in front of the city headquarters.

So this is where you've taken me, he told himself. He heard Slade's voice in his head then, as he imagined his brother's possible reactions to what he was about to do right now. He contemplated whether he was going crazy or not, and decided he didn't _care_ if he was.

_I know how to handle things better than you._

If you say so.

_Are you mocking me?_

Yes.

_Don't think you're so sly all the time. You'll regret it._

Maybe. But things change.

_Remember I'm in charge here…_

Not anymore…

His rage guiding him, he charged into the building.

It must have been pretty loud considering the amount of people staring at him right now. He walked intently up to the desk of a woman he knew to be Slade's secretary. She was a stout, short, boring woman well past her prime years, so much so that she must have forgotten that breaking some rules sometimes tends to be the highlight of life, so she followed each one to a tee. Naturally, she was a perfect candidate for the job. He realized then just how much Slade had under his control, just how many people he had influenced—he must have had everything all planned out. A true politician, that Slade.

When he reached her desk, she looked a little nervous from his entrance. "Um…may I help you?" she asked uncomfortably, but without an attempt at sounding pleasant.

"Yes," he began, matching her pleasantness, "Yes you can, Miss…" he glanced at the nameplate on her desk, "Phyllis Pittman." He forced a smile. "I need to see Slade."

His stiff smile and mocking tone made her even more uneasy. She cleared her throat before answering carefully. "Mr. _Princeton_ is currently unavailable at the moment. Now, I can schedule an appointment for you—"

"No," he interrupted rudely. "I need to see him _now_. Do you know who I am? I'm_ Jagger_ Princeton, his brother, are you aware of that?"

"I know very well who you are," she retorted. "But Mr. Princeton is busy and informed me he wanted _no_ visitors. Perhaps in half and hour you can—no…sir, you can't go there. Sir!"

But Jagger had already passed by the desk and reached his brother's office door down the hall. He laughed once when he thought of Slade always telling him to knock before bursting through the door.

Not surprisingly, the all-important task that rendered his brother _unavailable_ consisted of a leggy, attractive—and most likely dense to be with the likes of him—young woman in a short skirt sitting on his lap lavishing him with…_attention_. Yes, how busy his brother was.

"Get out," he told the girl.

Offended, she looked at Slade scandalized with a hand on her chest, as if this was supposed to make him stand up for her. When he said nothing and instead only gave a small, indifferent shrug, she immediately got off his lap, grabbed her purse and quickly left the room humiliated. Slade wouldn't be seeing her again. Not that it would be any different otherwise.

When she was gone, Slade turned to Jagger, raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Well I thought I told Phyllis no visitors," he laughed, though it was clear he was annoyed and found nothing funny.

Jagger felt the same way. "Wipe that smirk off your face," he said harshly.

Slade's lips faltered a bit, but refused to comply. Nobody ordered him around. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he answered, pacing around the room. "I'm done."

"Done?" he laughed. "Done with what? Baking cookies? Redecorating your living room?"

"Done with you."

"Done with _me_, huh?"

"That's right." Jagger stopped pacing then, and stood right in front of Slade's desk, face to face with him.

Slade wasn't laughing anymore. "And how do you suppose _that _is supposed to work? You know, you were supposed to go through your little teenage rebellion awhile ago."

It was Jagger's turn to laugh. "You just try and make everything into a joke now, don't you? Go ahead, if it makes you feel better."

He paused then, but when Slade refused to reply, he continued.

"My whole life has been spent doing everything for you, for this cause, and for the longest time, I couldn't figure out why. It wasn't until now that I realized that the reason I couldn't was because, there _is _no explanation!" He threw his hands up. "I don't need to be here! Through everything, you insist on thinking that you're the only one that matters, that you don't need me, or Chazz, or anyone else, so here you go. I'm sick of it, of you. I'm sick of this life, if you can call it one. So I'm leaving, I'm _done_, and I'm not going to come back."

"So this is what all this is about?" began Slade venomously. "You want to quit? Well, go right on ahead! Do you really think I need you?" He laughed. "Leave! Go! Make yourself feel like you've done something great, that you're vindicated, victorious. And regret the day you ever did this, when I'm reaping all the benefits, when my name will be known across the world, respected by all, while you, unknown and insignificant, can only _envy_ my power from afar."

Jagger nodded then, not in agreement, but because he knew that's what Slade would say. He looked his brother straight in the eyes.

"I didn't expect any less of answer from you," he replied. "And what a pity, that's all that matters to you." He paused, as Slade stared back at him, his expression unreadable, before continuing. "Perhaps you _will_ succeed—that isn't something I can denounce—but you're wrong on one thing…you can absolutely make _certain_ that I will _never_ regret this day."

With nothing more than one last, heated look he turned to leave, and Slade did nothing to stop him.

* * *

----- 

No big deal, thought Slade as he watched the other slam the door behind him. He was the only one who worked, anyway. He could handle it all himself, he had been doing it for _years_, after all. His brothers, they were both disappointments, both of them. What a waste. But then again, what was the use of useless people?

It was then he vowed he would never give one more thought, one more _mention_ of Jagger Princeton.

And that was the last time he saw his brother.

* * *

----- 

But still he had a hard time from slipping.

"Sir?"

The loud clacking of the computer keys did not stop, as the stern eyes stayed glued to the screen, ignoring the meek voice that tried to get their attention.

"M-Mr. Princeton?"

The man at the computer didn't even blink. Seeing this, the already nervous, young man warily continued, desperate to get it over with so that he could get out of this stifling room.

"U-um…well…" He cleared his throat. "The Paxton deal isn't going very well…um…he says he may not merge with us after all, and—"

The clacking stopped. "What does that mean?" The voice was harsh.

The young man swallowed, as his boss looked at him, straight in the eyes. "Um…I don't know…that's what Mr. Paxton said!" He began fumbling with some papers in his hands, scanning over them anxiously. "It said it here somewhere…"

Slade sighed with irritation at the clumsy boy. "That's not what I asked. I want to know what he _means._"

The boy swallowed nervously. "U-um…he means that…" More flipping. "He means…"

He snatched the papers out of the boy's hands. This kid is worthless, he thought. He needed somebody else. "Give me that and bring Jagger," he ordered quickly and impatiently.

The other blinked with confusion. "I'm sorry…Jagger?" he asked, the name foreign to him.

Slade froze. "I meant Jon," he hastily replied. "Now are you going to stand there all day, or am I going to have to fire you to make you get out?"

The boy was gone in a flash.

And so Slade was left to his thoughts, which thoroughly punished him for the mistake he just made, until, thankfully, the summoned Jon entered the room with nothing more to talk about than business.

* * *

----- 

He hadn't seen them in twenty one years. He knew because he counted.

He wished he didn't have to.

Slumped in his chair the phone rang and he didn't bother answering.

* * *

----- 

Success is a funny thing, thought Slade. Ask anyone to define it and there's hardly a person who would fail to mention money. It's a goal everyone strives for, why millions get up in the morning to go to a job they hate, why the wealthy are a separate, exalted _race_ that would never once face rejection that mattered, why the powerful stayed powerful.

Slade smiled to himself. What they don't know is that success can make you or break you.

Most likely both. Respectively.

It was a lesson he learned early in the game. He didn't know then that it applied to him, not until now. Not until now, when he knew he had become exactly who he wanted, had gained exactly what he needed, exactly the way he planned it—and by _himself,_ no less—and was a millionaire, a leader, a genius, and quite the well-liked man, too, when it came to it.

He had done it all himself. Alone.

_Yes_, he thought dimly, his mocking smile gone, _what an accomplishment_.

So, as he gazed outside through the window of his house, the only original resident who still lived there, and saw the fruits of his success plainly before him—the money, the respect, the power—he knew what to expect next.

It could only go downhill from here.

* * *

----- 

So things hadn't turned out the way they were supposed to. Where was the surprise in that?

He'd heard the story a billion times before. It was practically a cliché. The rich, heartless guy always lost in the end, some way, somehow. What goes around, comes around. Karma.

He wasn't an exception. He had reached the top without so much as a second glance at the others he left behind, had faithfully and rigidly stuck to his vow of achieving his goal no matter the cost, had sold his own soul only to have it thrown back at him when it wasn't worth anything anymore.

_He _wasn't worth anything anymore.

He was a disgrace to even himself now.

And he couldn't take it.

So he had asked for the strongest thing they had. The fastest one. He wasn't sure if that's what they had given him, but it was all he had, and he wasn't backing out now. Backing out was never allowed.

The set up was easier than he thought it would be. And when he stuck the needle into his forearm it flowed in so smoothly he hardly felt it.

He began to feel light-headed…drowsy. It was working. This was it.

He laid back then, resting his head on the back of the soft chair, feeling his breathing slowing down, calming down, and turned his head to the window in wait. He quickly looked away, the sun blinding him at first, before he moved his head over slightly so that the tree outside was blocking it, and looked back up.

And the sight that met his eyes was something he had never seen before. The sun beamed brilliantly, turning everything it touched golden and glistening from its position behind the very tree he had so many times found a nuisance. The tree was glowing, with a halo of radiance catching every curve of each leaf, every nick of every branch.

And it looked beautiful.

Having a thought such as this would have stunned him—appalled him—under different…_circumstances_.

But now, all he could think of was how funny it was that in his whole life he had never before taken the time to notice such a thing, until now, when it didn't matter either way.

Yes, how funny it was that he found the will to live in the moment he least wanted to, in the moment of least importance.

His eyes searched wildly for something—anything—that could help him. He knew he was searching in vain. Somehow he gathered enough strength to move his upper torso and lunge to his desk. He slumped over the top, finding it strange how the weakness he felt was coming on so strong.

_Please…_he begged to no one in particular. He grasped desperately for a slip of paper and pen, as if they were offering him a second chance.

He wrote one message before his staring eyes turned blank and glazed with the drop of his pen, his mouth foaming as he was finally granted the one gift he had wanted for so long, and yet, did not want.

_Don't hate me._

* * *

------- 

"So this is all it is?" he mumbled to himself. He didn't expect anyone to hear.

His companion looked at him, eyebrow raised, puzzled by the question.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

_I mean I work this hard to feel as though I've gained nothing?_

He never said that, of course. He only leaned against the wall, closed his eyes and sighed.

"Never mind."

* * *

----- 

The sun was shining brightly as it set, its intensity unaffected, and its heat permeating through all that it touched. It was a calm and relaxed evening, where one look at the pink and purple skies and the foliage of trees and grass thriving happily all around, their green color only seeming to be intensified by the orange light, could make anyone feel completely at ease. It was silent, the occasional faint howl of the wind the only sound in its presence.

It was broken suddenly, however, by the persistent and nervous clicks of a lighter. A steady stream of smoke soon followed, the cigarette finally lit, to the relief of the smoker.

"So what happens now?" he asked hastily, clearly not wanting to be there, the beauty of the world surrounding him unnoticed.

"I don't really know…" his younger companion answered wearily. He too did not want to be there. But it was something that needed to be done, right? It _was_ their brother…after all…

_Huh, _he scoffed. _Brother._

"What a stupid guy. He always thought he was so smart…so important" said the smoker. He laughed once, disdainfully. "Now look at him. I hope he doesn't expect us to feel sorry about it or something. I say, for once in his life, he's finally done something generous for someone…_other _than himself."

"Hmph," was all the other said in reply. What his brother said was true, cruel as it sounded. There was a reason, after all, why they were the only two here.

Jagger ignored the lack of answer and flicked some of the ashes onto the grass, trying to act careless. "But then, he still gets the last laugh. Leaving us nothing...he still gets the last laugh."

Chazz shifted his weight. "Well what else do you want?"

"Huh," the other scoffed. "I want what I deserve. I want him to admit he couldn't do it. He thought he could handle it, but he couldn't," he paused then, a hint of satisfaction. "No…he needed me for that."

Chazz stayed silent, but that didn't stop Jagger's anger from continuing to grow. "He got what was coming to him. This is just a waste of time."

Jagger had a point. When did he ever not have one? And, thought Chazz, surely he shared the same sentiment towards the situation, right?

Still…there was a question that nagged in the back of his mind, a sense of doubt that refused to let him feel the hatred he had felt so many years ago.

"Then why are we here?"

There it was. Simply asked but not so simply answered. Jagger closed his mouth, taken aback. He turned away and swallowed, but nothing more.

Chazz watched him, waiting for a reply, soon realizing he was only being a fool for doing so. His brother never did give an answer. Perhaps there wasn't one.

It was quiet for a long time until Jagger decided to speak again. "Well…I'll signal the guys to dig him in then, get this thing over with." He finished puffing out a bit of smoke. He did that a few more times, each one seeming like he took a deeper breath each time.

A few moments passed and still, no signals had been made.

Chazz noticed. _So he's not ready either_, he thought. He turned his head slightly to look at his brother, his suit smooth and pressed, hair glossy and slicked back, everything on him looking so precise and in place and put together and perfect. Even in his posture there was no fault, with his back straight and arms coolly crossed, a pose natural for him. If it weren't for the hurried puffs of his cigarette or the dark circles under his eyes, any sign of distress would have gone completely unnoticed. Chazz had never been able to do that. How was it that his older brothers could always look so poised and impassive at times when they were not?

He looked back out at the glossy black box, hovering before them. Even in there, he knew his other brother still looked as impeccable as ever. He knew that his brother still looked exactly the same as he ever did. He felt a lump forming in his throat and quickly swallowed; he didn't understand why it was that thought that made him feel the most sorry.

_What did you do? _he sighed, shaking his head. _Why?_

Slipping his hand slowly into his pocket, his fingers lightly met what he already knew was in there. Clasping it firmly he pulled the object out of its silence to reveal a folded and slightly crumpled piece of paper. Jagger stopped, as he caught sight of it out of the corner of his eye. It didn't need to be opened; they knew what it held inside.

Things seemed suddenly quiet, as if all breathing ceased for the moment. Chazz watched as Jagger looked at his cigarette, held between his pointer and middle fingers, the end red and gray and burning. He dropped it, suddenly, toeing it into the ground to put it out. The ashes strewed on the grass, out of place on the deep green. He looked at it, a hint of guilt on his face. Their brother deserved more respect than that. It was something they knew, but left unspoken.

Again they stood in silence. At a time like this it was hard to find things to say, not that they could find any in the first place.

Chazz crouched down until he sat on his heels and dropped the piece of paper, still folded, into the deep hole that would soon cease to exist, and become just like the green grass that surrounded it, as if it had never been. And time would pass and it would be forgotten. Maybe things were meant to be forgotten.

Slowly, he stood back up and turned to leave, pausing to look back when the other didn't follow. It was then he knew how his brother really felt.

Jagger lingered, watching the paper reach the ground and tumble across the dirt with the push of the wind until it found a place to rest in the corner. He stared at it just a little longer before lifting his head, where, with a simple flick of his hand, finally gave the diggers their signal.

Turning back around Chazz steadily walked alongside his brother, who was making quite the effort to prevent his face from being seen. He suspected he knew why. After all, his own eyes were feeling the sting, also. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he closed his eyes and turned his head to the sky, feeling the warmth and comfort of the sun on his face.

He had only read them once, but he could still remember them. They were not so easily forgotten. Not when they, even in their plainness and brevity, could say what a million words could not, what a lifetime of silence had smothered.

And, for whatever it was worth though no one would ever hear them, for whatever it mattered now in saying it, now that they came just a little bit too late...too late because they had refused to see the truth…he answered them.

_  
We don't, Slade …would you believe it?_

_We don't._


End file.
